Walter Harland

Walter Harland, by Harriet S.
Caswell

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Title: Walter Harland Or, Memories of the Past
Author: Harriet S. Caswell
Release Date: May 8, 2005 [eBook #15799]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
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76

WALTER HARLAND
Or, Memories of the Past
by
H. S. CASWELL
Author of Clara Boscom; Earnest Harwood, etc.
1874
CHAPTER I.
Left entirely alone on a quiet afternoon, the unbroken stillness which
surrounded me, as well as the soft haze which floats upon the
atmosphere, in that most delightful of all seasons, the glorious "Indian
Summer" of Eastern Canada, caused my thoughts to wander far away
into the dreamy regions of the past, and many scenes long past, and
almost forgotten, passed in review before my mind's eye on that quiet
afternoon. While thus musing the idea occurred to me that there are few
individuals, however humble or obscure, whose life-history (if noted
down) would prove wholly without interest to others, in the form of a
book; and this thought caused me to form the idea of noting down some
passages from my own life--as they were on that day recalled to my
mind. Like the boy who dreamed a most remarkable dream and, when
asked to relate it, "didn't know where to begin," so was I puzzled as to
how I should make a beginning for my story. But the incidents of one
particular day when I was about thirteen years old were so vividly
brought back to my mind, that I have decided upon that day as a
starting-point; and now to my story.
"Where alive has that lazy, good-for-nothing boy taken, himself off to

now, I wonder, and the weeds I left him to pull in the garden not half
done yet; but it's just like him, as soon's my back's turned to skulk off
in this way. I'll put a stop to this work one of these days, see if I don't.
Its likely he's hiding in some out-of-the-way corner with a book in his
hand as usual." These and many other angry words came harshly to my
ears, on that June afternoon now so long ago. I was seated in the small
room over the kitchen which was appropriated to my use in the
dwelling of Farmer Judson, where I was employed as "chore boy," or,
in other words, the boy of all work.
"Walter, Walter Harland, come down here this minute, I say."
I started up, trembling with fear, for the angry tones of the farmer made
me aware that he had come home in one of his worst tempers, and his
best were usually bad enough; and, more than this, I knew myself to be
slightly in the fault. Before leaving home that morning Mr. Judson had
ordered me to clear the weeds from a certain number of beds in the
garden before his return. I worked steadily during the forenoon, and for
a portion of the afternoon, when, feeling tired and heated, I stole up to
my room, thinking to rest for a short time and then again resume my
labors. I was very fond of study, and, as my Algebra lay before me
upon the table, I could not resist the temptation to open it, and I soon
became so deeply absorbed in the solution of a difficult problem that I
heeded not the lapse of time till the harsh voice of my employer fell
upon my ear. I had learned by past experience to fear the angry moods
of Mr. Judson. In my hurry and confusion I forgot to lay aside my book,
and went downstairs with it in my hand. I stood silent before the angry
man, and listened to the storm of abuse which he continued to pour
upon me, until sheer exhaustion compelled him to stop.
"And now," said he (by way of conclusion) "be off to your work, and
don't be seen in the house again till the last weed is pulled from them
air beds." This was even better than I had dared to hope, for, on more
than one former occasion, I had borne blows from Mr. Judson when his
anger was excited. As I turned to leave